


One Last Time

by resolute



Category: Aliens (1986)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 10:45:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5453828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/resolute/pseuds/resolute
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Aliens fix-it fic, what other movies? What does victory look like? How do we know we've won?</p><p>This is set in the same 'verse as <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/2804840">Eyes Shut Against the Ferocious Wind</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Last Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vanishinghitchhiker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanishinghitchhiker/gifts).



Duty

 

              Bishop walked the frozen lakeshore towards the pier. To his right the city of Chicago stood under a steel-grey sky. On his left the waters of Lake Michigan were frozen in tumult, foam and ice and breaking caught in time. An organic person would apply some sort of motivation to the splinters of ice, would say the lake had grasping fingers, or that it clawed at the shore. Organic persons had a tendency to imagine the world as more intentional than it was.

              The world, Bishop knew, was hostile enough without inventing new threats.

              For instance, if anyone here in Chicago identified him as an artificial person he would be reclaimed. Reappropriated. Tasered and shut down and boxed up and handed over to Weyland-Yutani. Earth did not recognize manumission. That was a perfectly reasonable and realistic danger. The frozen lake was irrelevant.

              Bishop saved a note in his memory. “The lake clawed at the shore with hungry fingers, Newt, while the city strained recklessly towards the sky.” He took a few images and saved those with the message. At some friendlier time and place he would send the pictures to her.

              Just before the pier the sidewalk widened, split, became a delta of cold pavement twisting to various destinations. The boulevard pedestrian flyover. The beach. Forward towards the region called Miracle Mile. And, to Bishop’s right, Navy Pier. The housing units on the pier rose in an inverted pyramid, each unit extending out over the edges of its lower neighbor. Stores and conveniences made up the structure’s base. Restaurants and bars, coffee shops and smokehouses. More people were here despite the December cold. Bishop walked towards Sindy’s Smokes with unhurried purpose.

              In the back of the shop, his purchased pipe and scented tobacco in hand, Bishop loitered. He smoked, sipped an espresso, and read the local news on his tablet. After a reasonable amount of time he went to the restroom. Fourth urinal, cracked tile behind the pipe – there it was. Bishop took the datastick. After making sure no-one else was in the room, he placed the stick inside his brachial courier pouch. He smoothed the skin back together and calmly washed his hands.

              After another half hour, Bishop paid his tab and left.

              Seven hours later he was back in orbit. The information on the datastick went through one series of dead drops, blind reroutes, and false-front senders. The message for Newt went through another such series. Bishop never looked at the datastick’s files. There was too much risk, were he to be caught, that the contents could be reconstructed no matter how carefully he wiped his own data. Information about Neo-Pharm, he knew. Information about their biological weapons program, and the xenomorphs, and the importation of xenomorphs to Earth. That was all he needed to know in order to participate.

              Spy. Traitor. Bishop could be neither of those things. He wasn’t real enough to betray anyone. All he could legally do was carry information from once place to another. A container. Barely a courier. More like an animate mailbox for Contra. Bishop’s smile was quick and hard, and he feigned a cough to cover his face against the ever-present surveillance of Earth.

 

Family

 

              The Outer-world New Brasilia colony city of Manduhai Four had grown since the last time Bishop stopped by. He watched the viewscreen as the orbital elevator sped planetside, pretending along with everyone else that the generated images constituted a view of the horizon. He walked himself through customs, then baggage inspection, then to the quarantine area for Pets, Plants, and Plastics. Dacen was waiting. He waved Bishop over.

              “Good to see you, man,” Dacen said, clapping Bishop on the shoulder and smiling. “It’s been too long.”

              “Thanks,” Bishop replied.

              “Newt’s waiting at the apartment with the kids. They all have a bit of a cold, some viral thing, but they can’t wait to see you.”

              “I don’t want to impose,” Bishop said as they walked quickly to the monorail station. “I can get a room – “

              “And have Newt kill me? Not a chance.” Dacen grinned, the long scar across his cheek and lip twisting the friendly expression into a grimace. Bishop smiled back.

              The apartment was in an anonymous warren of similar buildings, mass housing for colonial workers. New Brasilia was still growing, building up and out. Bishop knew from Newt’s letters that she found work every month while Dacen raised their kids and recovered from the accident. As they walked the halls towards Newt’s home, Bishop read the ads and logos and notices plastered on every wall. No W-Y, no Neo-Pharm. Dacen let them into the apartment after rapping a quick code. It was overly cautious of the young couple, but Bishop expected as much from a child raised to adulthood by Ripley.

              Newt greeted Bishop with a smile and a quick hug, then introduced him to the children standing awkwardly in the kitchen doorway. “Ellen, Will,” she said, “this is our friend Bishop. Do you remember Bishop, or were you too little last time?” The kids nodded briefly and mumbled a greeting, then retreated back to their meal. “We were just finishing dinner,” Newt said in explanation. “I have to eat early this week because of the night shift.”

              “Are you leaving for work soon?” Bishop asked.

              “No, not tonight, of course not!” Newt replied. “It’s my day off. I rearranged my schedule so we could catch up while you are in town.”

              Dacen gestured at Bishop’s coat. “Let me take that, and you two can sit.”

              Bishop watched the two coordinate their actions. They worked in concert, smoothly, like any combat team. The bulk of the meaning in coded looks and half-finished phrases, moving with and around each other until the tasks were done. Bishop smiled as he found himself seated on one end of a couch while Newt sat across from him, a glass of wine in her hand. Dacen disappeared into the kitchen and Bishop heard a mix of teasing laughter and sharper parental direction.

              “You appear content,” Bishop said quietly.

              Newt nodded. “We do.”

              The phrasing was odd. “Are you?”

              “Did you get my letter from four days ago, or did that miss your transit?”

              “I did not receive that one, no,” Bishop replied.

              Newt sipped her wine. “Ripley’s left Maker’s Hollow,” she said. “I got a letter from Hicks and Ally. Ripley left a month ago. They thought at first that she was just out in the hills, living wild outside of town, but someone saw her board a freighter. Ally’s worried. Ripley has been …“ Newt looked down. “She’s getting worse, mentally. Focusing on the past in dangerous ways.”

              “Ah.”

              They sat for a moment, listening to the chatter from the other room.

              “Do you …” Bishop looked for the right words for his intended meaning. He couldn’t find them. “Is there something I can do for you?”

              Newt shrugged. “I’m not sure. It depends on what I want, I guess.”

              “What do you want?”

              Her smile was familiar to Bishop. Crooked and tight, worried and reassuring all at once. “If I knew that, I’d know what help to ask for.”

              “She’d not appreciate us being indecisive,” Bishop said quietly.

              Newt snorted. “No, she wouldn’t. Disappointed. She had the making of us both, and here we are, sitting on a couch, worrying instead of doing.” She looked at Bishop for a long moment. He sat still, waiting for her to speak. “Do you think you made a bad decision? Letting Ripley get your programming changed?”

              “Of course not,” Bishop said evenly. “One of the features of the change is that I now think it was necessary, the only good option.”

              Newt sighed. “Certainty sounds nice.”

              “I think Ripley wishes she was certain,” Dacen said from the doorway. “I mean, she puts up this big mean front, right, but people who are actually sure of themselves sleep better than that.”

              Bishop raised an eyebrow and smiled at Newt. “Smart man, your husband.”

              “I know.” Newt grinned at Dacen. “Good with kids, too.”

              “I can go look for her,” Bishop said. “Ripley. I’m between jobs right now. The next one will probably come along next month. I have the freedom to look.”

              “Unless she’s on an Inner planet.”

              Bishop nodded. “Unless she’s Inner. I need new papers, after this last time.”

              “Any problems?” Newt asked.

              “No. But I’m not risking it again with the same cover.”

              “Do you think the work you do is helping?”

              Bishop paused a moment. He knew the facts, the rational answer, the numbers. Formulating those things into words that conveyed his intention took a moment. “I don’t know. I think so. I think the Outer Colonies are already troubled by their relationships with Neo-Pharm and Weyland-Yutani and the rest. The information I smuggle to Contra, it helps give reason to the concerns. I think it contributes.”

              “Contributes to what end?”

              “I don’t know.” Bishop saw Dacen through the kitchen doorway. He watched the young man feeding his children. “I don’t know what the end will be.”

 

Honor

 

              He shouldn’t have tried Charon Station.

              The holding cell was small for a flesh and bone person, but not uncomfortable for a synthetic. Bishop sat and waited. He had been waiting five days. Charon Customs and Security had stopped him coming in. He’d know his documentation wouldn’t hold up. But all signs pointed to Ripley being here, or further in.

              The door opened. “Get up.”

              Bishop followed the guard down the narrow hall. The small conference room was low-ceilinged, like everything on Charon. A woman was waiting for him. Dark skin, dark curly hair, dark eyes, dark clothes. She was neat and clean, and Bishop could detect the chemical signatures of expensive personal grooming products.

              “Ma’am,” he said. “My name’s Bishop.” He sat down.

              She nodded. “My name is Mikki Reed. I’m the attorney assigned your case.” She looked at him. “I see you’re from Outer. Been all over the place according to this transit visa. My nephew emigrated Outer a few years back. Knows some folks on a little colonial outpost called Maker’s Hollow. Ever heard of it?”

              Bishop looked carefully at Counselor Reed. This was unexpected. He gave the possible meanings of her words different probabilities, assigned levels of risk and reward to the outcomes of scenarios. The most likely option was that she was a friend of his friends.

              “I think an old service buddy of mine settled there,” he replied slowly, choosing his words deliberately. “Name of Hicks.”

              Reed nodded. “Sounds about right.” She tapped her tablet and held it up so Bishop could see. “You were pulled by customs for an expired cargo declaration. But then a flag came up on a previous Earth visit. Can you explain your actions on January 5th of this year? Where were you, and why?”

              “I was in Chicago,” Bishop said without hesitation. “Sight-seeing.”

              “Sight-seeing?”

              “Yes. A friend of mine has never seen Earth. I took pictures and video for her and her children.”

              Reed took notes while Bishop spoke. “What is your relationship with Neo-Pharm?”

              “There is none.”

              “And Weyland-Yutani?”

              “I was manumitted on Delphi seven years ago. I own myself.”

              There was a long pause as Reed looked at the documentation on her tablet. “You filed that with Outer. It seems the paperwork never passed to Inner. That must be the problem.” She looked at him. “This shouldn’t be hard to correct. There are a number of fees, though. Filing, and expedited filing.”

              “I have the money.”

              “Good.” Reed nodded. She stood to go. “I’ll be in touch. Shouldn’t take more than a week, and then the next time you come Inner you’ll be legal.”

              “Am I free to go?”

              “Leave your contact information with the court. But, yes.” She smiled sympathetically at Bishop.

              Bishop stood and held out his hand. “Thank you for your help with this, Counselor. I appreciate it.”

              Reed palmed the credit disk seamlessly, as if she did this all the time. “You’re welcome.”

 

Love

 

              Living space was at a premium on the Delphi Seven orbital station. By the time Bishop finally returned to the secure storage unit he rented as living quarters, Ripley was there. Waiting for him. She sat on the door frame, her feet hanging in the walkway, a mug of hot chai in her hand. Bishop could smell the ginger and cardamom as he approached.

              “Ripley.” He stopped an arm’s length away. Down the corridor a family was unloading a locker, kids hauling boxes and elderly relatives criticizing.

              “Bishop.” Ripley stood, her angular frame folding and extending like a retractable gantry. “Glad you could make it.”

              He followed her into the small cubicle. “If you were expecting me, you could have made yourself easier to find.”

              “I had business to take care of. Had to check a few things.”

              “You could have stayed Outer.”

              Ripley grimaced. “I am sorry about that. Didn’t mean for you to get arrested.”

              Bishop wasn’t sure how she knew about that. “It happens. But thank you.”

              The storage unit contained a couch, a table, and Bishop’s luggage. Bishop turned on the overhead light and closed the door behind him. Ripley sat on the couch, arms outstretched.

              “I don’t have any food or drinks to offer,” Bishop said. He sat down next to Ripley.

              “I know.” She looked over her shoulder at the back of the unit. “I looked around before you got here.”

              “I don’t have any more information for you or for Contra.”

              “Ah.” Ripley twisted at her hair, the braids turned to half-dreadlocks. “I don’t think I read the last set of files.”

              “Neo-Pharm,” Bishop said. “Live xenomorph testing on Earth. All the evidence. It’s in Contra hands now.”

              “Good. Good.”

              “If you watch the corporate financial news you can see something is already in motion.”

              “Good,” Ripley repeated.

              “Why are you here, Ripley?” Bishop asked quietly. If it wasn’t about the Neo-Pharm takedown….

              The silence grew. Bishop did not mind.

              “Do you remember your personality before Ang reprogrammed you?”

              “I do.” Bishop waited. Ripley knew this already. They had decided it together, that he would forget nothing.

              “Do you miss who you used to be?”

              “No.”

              Ripley twisted her hair. “Of course not. We made it so you would have no regrets.”

              “That’s not why,” Bishop said quietly. Ripley looked at him sharply. “I don’t regret who I used to be because that person led me to be who I am today. And I like who I am today.”

              “Ah.” Ripley sighed. “That’s probably the difference.”

              “The difference?”

              “Between me and you.” Outside the storage unit, in the hallway, people were talking as they hauled things. Bishop sat and listened while Ripley seemed to be thinking. “I have cancer,” she said after a long while.

              Bishop looked at her.

              “And I don’t want to get treated for it.”

              “Ah.” Bishop thought for a moment. “What do you want?”

              Ripley couldn’t meet Bishop’s eyes any more. “I want you to take care of things.”

              The noise of the family in the hall faded. The storage unit beneath them was opened, a few things shoved around loudly, and then locked up.

              “We’ve stopped Neo-Pharm. Me, and you, and Contra. They won’t be able to bring any more xenomorphs to Earth.” Bishop raised one finger. “Newt is married, and happy, and has children, and is safe.” He held up a second finger. “You know yourself that Hicks and his family are doing well.” Three fingers. “Weyland-Yutani is restricted away from biological research, it has been for five years already.” All four fingers. Bishop looked at his raised hand. He closed it. “So you want me to … dispose of your body? Is that it?”

              “I want you to kill me and then dispose of my body. Yeah.”

              “Does Hicks know this is your plan?”

              “He does now. I sent a message to Ally yesterday. She’ll explain it to Hicks and the kids.”

              “And Newt?”

              Ripley looked away. “No. She doesn’t know. Not yet.” Her fingers twisted together in her lap. “I don’t know the words.” She glanced at him quickly, then away again. “I think I was hoping that you might know how to tell her.”

              “I don’t think anyone can know how to say that,” Bishop said quietly. Ripley sighed. But Bishop kept talking before she could speak. “I’ll try, though. You can rely on me, Ripley.”

              The noise Ripley made wasn’t entirely a laugh. But it wasn’t a sob, either.

              Bishop stood. “When did you have in mind?”

              Ripley stood up next to him. The glare of the unit’s light did not flatter her. The bones of her skull stood out in sharp prominence. “I didn’t, really. But I guess there’s no time like the present.”

              Bishop shook his head.

              “No?” Ripley raised one eyebrow, sardonic and challenging all at once.

              “Not right here,” Bishop said. “This is my home.” He opened the door. “Let’s take a walk around the station. You can see the sights. There’s an overview of the main excavation that everyone agrees in lovely.”

              Ripley pursed her lips. “An overview.”

              “It’s lovely,” Bishop said quietly. “Peaceful. No hospitals, no doctors. No beeping machines. No marines, or police. Just the breeze of the air recyclers and the hum of the maglev cars down below.” He held out his hand. “I’ll tell you, before you slip and fall. You won’t be surprised. I know you hate surprises.”

              “That sounds nice,” Ripley said. She nodded. “Why don’t you show me around the station, Bishop,” she said. “A walk with a friend. One last time.”


End file.
